The Way His Collar Falls
by pinefresh
Summary: Ginny's account of the train ride to Hogwarts on the way to Harry's 5th year and her general musings about Harry. Rather lovely. Check it out.


(A/N -- From Ginny's POV, just to clear that up. "The Way His Collar Falls" is the name of a song.)

The Way His Collar Falls

Harry and I are on the train to Hogwarts. With everyone else, of course. I've only seen him once in the past two months. Only once. For a minute when he came over to the Burrow to see Ron. I'd waited around all morning for him to come back down. It was the kind of morning that lasted all afternoon. He never came back down. It was unsettling.

His hair is sticking up a little in the front. He looks like he's going to lose control of everything he's held on to. I would have by now. He's hardly grasping on to his life anymore. And Merlin knows how he was being treated by those horrible Muggles he lived with.

I wonder if he knows everyone's missed him. Everyone cares about him. I wonder if he knows I missed him. 

His glasses, the way he writes. The way his collar falls to the left.

Have people looked at his scar lately? It's still swollen. I remember how it looked when he'd come in from the Third Task last year. It was worse than this - almost purple. His face had been so lost. His eyes had been squinted, and were no longer bright, but a dank green color.

I know he's next to me - I feel cotton rubbing against my arm. But this is only chance. It's never like this. When I sleep it's only my sheets and my thoughts about him. I think I'll write to him. Maybe he would appreciate it. Maybe I could make him feel better.

We're still on the train. His hair is still sticking up, but even more so. He'd run his fingers through it. He's tapping his fingers on his knee. I imagine that Hogwarts can't come fast enough for him. It could wait for me. If I get to sit here with him for a bit longer. Just a bit longer.

He's holding onto his Firebolt like it's the end of the world. Maybe it's the one thing he has left that's not ripped up. The one thing he has that hasn't been shattered in one way or another. I watch him as he studies the handle with so much care, and runs his fingers over his initials he'd carved in. He's clipping the broomtail now, handling it like it's glass. He might want to be careful. If his Firebolt gets ruined, I don't know what he would do. I hope that if one thing could stay normal for him, it would be Quidditch.

I know it seems like I'm always foolish around him. I'm not foolish. I don't blush constantly around him. I can speak coherently, contrary to what everyone thinks. I'm just misunderstood. I am not some young girl who is obsessed with some famous person. I am some young girl who is in love with a boy. It's normal. This boy happens to be famous. And yet I'm perceived as the girl who wrote him the Valentine in her second year. The girl who squealed when she first saw him at her house. And that was it. But people seem to have forgotten about the Chamber of Secrets. It wasn't fake. It was real. It was very real. I would have died. Harry saved me. I don't see how people just overlook things like that.

When I lay down tonight I'll miss sitting here with him. He's not there when I sleep. He needs to be safer. He doesn't know what it's like to be loved completely. Or he forgets. The last time he was told that he was loved was when he was one year old. Fourteen years ago. Maybe he needs me.

He's laughing now. It's clear and sounds loud compared to Ron's and Hermione's in the train compartment. Maybe it's because I'm right next to him. But I think it's because he's so happy to be laughing. And now he's stopped, abruptly, as if it's against the rules to laugh. Against the rules to have fun. And he has the gloomy look in his eyes again. I feel like making him laugh again. I hate it when people feel sad. I hate when people are lonely. I know how it feels. 

Is he special because he's lonely? Is he lonely? Is he just stubborn? People think he might be stubborn. People think he's stubborn because he hates his fame. People who don't _know_ him.

No. He's not stubborn. He's a nice person. He gave his winning money to my brothers. He brought back Cedric's body for him.

Cedric's dead body. Dead. I can't even imagine. I think that's what he's thinking of right now. I think that's what I would be thinking of right now. But I'm not-I'm thinking about how tempting his hand is. Sitting right there. If I could just reach out for it... We were walking one time, side by side. He brushed my hand but then jerked it back and shoved it deep into his pocket, speeding up to walk with Ron, and not looking back.

He needs to be told it's okay. He needs to be told that touching isn't necessarily killing. And maybe I should tell him. Maybe I need to be the one to teach him that lesson. I owe him something. He needs me.

He's turned to me for the first time on the entire train ride. His lips turn into a sort-of smile that meets his green eyes. I smile back. 

I wonder if he knows.


End file.
